I stayed silent.
It's all good and fun to play badass ron davis when I'm out on a Shady Bar Bus Tour, but that's no big shakes when compared to making a play for the boon — it's the difference between a Golden Gloves match and a 12-round heavyweight championship battle.
Today I felt thunderstruck, as if the morning storms had brought down a bolt of fire and I was standing in the path of the lightning bolt. Oddly, I am alright with being quiet and letting the moment linger. Part of me still feels not quite ready to enter the fray. Part of me is certain that this is not yet the correct occasion, that I need to bide my time before taking my one chance. There are other things happening in life — much more important events — that must take precedent. That one's a no-brainer.
I am now walking close to 30 miles every week. It has become a fetish, a way to burn off the vigorous energy I feel coursing through my veins. I will walk tonight and try to exhaust myself while hoping the cat gets better. In my brain I will ask the guide what I should do — if I should throw caution to the gales or do what my gut tells me is correct.
The old Ron — the cocky, ignorant guy who walked on May 4, the day before the stroke — would barge right in. That guy died on the hot late-spring morning of Saturday, May 5. I can choose to resurrect him and his impatient, loud ways. But would that be wise?
Despite the issues with el gato, it was a good day today. An enlightening day. I learned much.